


Celebrating the Oldest Beatle

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: On July 7th, 1965, Ringo celebrated his 25th birthday, and he was the first Beatle to reach such a milestone. The boys gather to celebrate Ringo and reflect on getting older.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Celebrating the Oldest Beatle

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 80th Birthday Ringo! This fic is obviously inspired by Ringo's birthday. I was thinking about how Ringo is the first Beatle to reach their 80s and how being the oldest Beatle must have its burdens.

“John, did you find your glasses?” Paul shouted out. He was seated in the Beatles’ living room. George was at his side, and Ringo was sitting in the armchair. 

John, from down the corridor, shouted back, “I think they’re under the bed.” 

“He’ll never find them,” George declared. 

“I’ll help him find them,” Paul offered. 

“No need,” John said, coming into the living room, his glasses on. “What’d I miss?”

“The cake almost melted,” George pointed out. 

He pointed to a white cake positioned in front of Ringo. Written across it in royal blue icing was the words “Happy 25th Birthday Ringo” with little stars around it. 

“And I don’t know how much longer I can stare at this thing without sticking my fingers in,” Ringo added. 

“The cake came out nice,” John remarked, swiping his finger across the icing. The others looked offended. “What? I didn’t mess up the top part.”

“Whatever, let’s just light the candles,” Paul said. George took out a lighter and lit each of the 6 six candles. 

“On three,” John called out. “One, two, three.”

“Happy birthday to you…”

They sang in their angelic voices. Ringo sat silently, listening to his three best friends sing with him. Any annoyance they had moments ago slipped away as they celebrated their friend. 

“And another year older!” George and Paul sang dramatically, falling against the couch. 

“Thanks lads,” Ringo said, as he cut into his cake. “It’s sweet.”

“You know,” John commented, cutting a piece of cake for himself, “if we recorded that, fans would buy it in shelve-loads.”

Everyone looked at him like he was some greedy bastard. 

“We shouldn’t,” he hastily added. “But it just goes to show how things have changed. Two years ago, no one would’ve paid to hear us sing the national anthem let alone happy birthday. And now, they’d pay good money to hear it.” 

“This is the part we say that our lives may change, but our friendship never will,” Paul replied.  
With his classic quick wit, John responded, “Why would we say that?” 

“That doesn’t sound like us at all,” George added with a snicker. 

“As a joke--I meant it as a jo--never mind,” Paul replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway,” he continued, cutting a piece of cake. “Ringo, do you want to do anything special for your birthday?”

“Yeah, we could go out, catch a few birds, have a few drinks, dealers’ choice really,” George suggested. 

Ringo considered it a moment. 

“How about we just stay in, just the four of us. There’s a monster movie marathon on tonight. We could make some popcorn and watch that.”

“If that’s what you want,” John responded, raising his glass of scotch, “then that’s what we’ll do.” 

After spending a few hours watching various creatures attack trans-atlantean actors, the teley ‘stopped’ for the night. The BBC ended its broadcast, and the boys were left, a little bleary-eyed and without a source of entertainment. 

“Well, that was Ringo Starr’s 25th birthday,” John declared, “I hope you had fun.”

“You’re another year older,” George pointed out. 

“Hey,” Paul declared, hopping up, drink in hand, “Ringo’s the oldest one out of the four of us.”

“How’d you work that one out?” John snickered, pouring himself another drink. 

“Yes, but do you realize that he’s the first Beatle to reach 25?” Paul informed the group. 

“Oh yeah, that’s true,” John replied thoughtfully. “I won’t be 25 for several more months, and these two are basically toddlers, so they won’t catch-up for ages.”

Paul and George were offended, but John was smug about it.

They all looked to Ringo to see his reaction. He shrugged. “I suppose I am. But 25 is a good age; it’s something to be proud of. 25 is when you really reach adulthood.” 

“Yeah, but it’s also a quarter of a century,” George pointed out. “Like 3 times over, you’re at 100.” 

Ringo’s face started to turn colors.

“He’s right, you know,” Paul added. 

“Don’t listen to them,” John said, patting a distressed Ringo on the shoulder. “I’m gonna be 25 in a few months, and I’m not freaked out about it. 25 is still young.”

“Yeah, but Paul is right. I am the oldest. That means that I’ll be first Beatle to hit whatever milestone is next, 30, 40, 50!” His eyes got wider with every number. 

“Oh, who cares. It’s only by a couple of months,” John replied.

“But I’ll always be first. Whenever the Beatles hit a new decade, it’ll be me who the press reports on, me who has to face that hurdle first. I’m the one who’s going to be in their 30s before all you guys, and 40s, and 50s.” He grumpily added, “And I’ll probably have grey hair before the rest of you.” 

The other three gathered around him and comforted him. 

“Yeah, but no matter what, the three of us will be right behind you,” John said. 

“Even though George and I are a bit younger, we’ll be there eventually.” 

“Also, being the youngest sucks. It’s terrible, and I hate it. Be grateful no one calls you the baby.”

“Or makes you ride in the middle seat,” Paul added. 

“And because you’re not one of the babies or the oldest, you sort of get forgotten,” John added. 

Ringo had to admit, they all had a point. 

Sighing, he said, “Why don’t we have a little more cake, and we can sing some more songs?” 

“I’ll grab my guitar,” John said, rushing out of the living room to fetch his Richenbaker.


End file.
